


Business of Baking

by RCAR



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I should be working on other things, Implied Sexual Content, Mild Smut, but inspiration hit me like a ton of bricks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 16:39:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6618262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RCAR/pseuds/RCAR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are the only baker in Gotham who serves all sides of the criminal world. Victor and you have been friends for a while now, though his feelings for you have been changing since the first time you said hello.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

      Victor had a job this fine Thursday morning. It was hellish, to be completely honest. He was tired, got stabbed in the shoulder, and all he wanted to do after everyone was dead was take a nap. The only problem was that Mr. Penguin still had another job for him, and “if you can’t handle severed shoulder tissue, why are you here, Victor?” So here he was, in front of your apartment 8:00 at night and ready to rest for the next 15 hours. He knocked on your door, humming absentmindedly when you opened the door. You took one look at him, up and down, and sighed,

      “Come in.”

      He grunts in response and heads immediately to sit by your kitchen counter. Your apartment is big enough for a full kitchen and a living room, with a bedroom just a few feet away behind another door. The bathroom is to the direct left of the bedroom door, and though sometimes you regret making the kitchen a priority, as a pastry chef you knew it was the most important feature of your home. Victor swivels atop the bar stool as he glances around the array of artisan pastries baking in the oven. You leave the room for a few moments, but quickly return with your makeshift first-aid kit. Gently removing his black blazer, then his dress shirt, you sigh at the gaping hole in his right shoulder.

      “Victor, why don’t you get this stitched by a professional sometime, huh? Maybe one of your mob friends who might actually know what they’re doing.”

      “Wellll,” he raises his nonexistent eyebrows at you, “none of them give me a cupcake after they stitch me up like you do, so, yeah,” he stretches his mouth into a thin sarcastic smile.

      “So you’re telling me if I stop feeding you I get to keep blood off my kitchen counters? Maybe I should’ve stopped feeding you a long time ago,” You quip back as you start threading the needle through his skin.

      He gasps in fake indignation, “but then who would you test out new recipes on?”

      You smiled. He was really talkative tonight, which meant he was exhausted beyond even his own knowledge.

      Patting his cheek, you say, “all done,” and he disappears to watch TV on your sofa. Cleaning your hands then checking on the oven, you take out the tray of fresh baked goods, taking one danish over to him. Placing it on the coffee table in front of him, you move back to the kitchen to properly put the pastries away for tomorrow’s delivery. Sitting on the right end of the couch, you pat your legs, and he takes that as his cue to lay his head across your lap. He’s put on one of those mindless talk shows that he loves so much, and you smile as he snorts at the host’s commentary on the upcoming mayoral election.

      “You need to sleep, mister Zsassasin,” you chide.

      “I thought I told you not to call me that,” he looks up at you through lidded eyes.

      “And I thought I told you that I would never stop because I love puns,” you retort, “now sleep.”

      He rolls his eyes, and then closes them when you start petting his head. It works every time. Five minutes in and he’s out like a light, and you change the channel to something you like to watch.

* * *

 

VICTORS P.O.V

 

      It was probably time to tell her. I’d been skirting around the subject of…emotions for the better half of the five years I’ve known (y/n). They’ve only been romantic feeling for about four months, but still. Victor Zsasz is not a man to avoid confrontation. Confrontation is my middle name. And yet I can’t bear to think what might happen if my feelings aren’t returned. Would it get weird? More awkward silences, fewer touches? At the risk of sounding like an asshole, I honestly don’t think I would be okay with losing the ability to spoon her. Have you smelled her? It’s like the sweet scent of freshly baked bread is permanently etched into her warm (s/c) skin. Her hair feels soft against the scars on my arm, and I love to stroke the tendrils between my fingers. See? The poetic wordplay has gone too far, and I’m in way too deep. Even now, I’m pretending to sleep so she’ll keep stroking her fingers across my face in that pattern, up the bridge of my nose, around my eyes, down my jawline. I try to play off my sigh by turning on my side, and immediately regret it as she takes this opportunity to slip off the couch and pull a blanket over me before heading off to bed.

* * *

 

      You had work today, and a big client was coming in. Apparently the new “King of Gotham” was having a party of sorts tonight, and you were well known for your ability to keep quiet about who came into your shop. You were quite clear with everyone that business stays outside the walls of your corner shop, and you were a neutral zone. You had just finished today’s display when the door rang, and you looked up to see a man in a very unique suit hobble in, with two bodyguards and a bored looking Victor behind them. You smiled professionally and came around the counter, holding out your hand for the man in the tuxedo to take,

      “Hello sir, my name is (y/n) (y/l/n), it’s very nice to meet you Mister….”

      “Cobblepot. Most people call me The Penguin,” he smiles cordially back at you.

      You shake his hand smile politely, but inside you’re in shock. This guy was the one who’s replacing all the old mob bosses?

      Letting your hand drop, you start speaking again, “well, if you want to wait here for a moment, I’ll be right back with the order forms and we can—“

      “Excuse me, Ms. (y/l/n), I’m not just here to greet you, unfortunately. I’m also here to make sure your loyalty’s lie where they should.”

      At this, his two bodyguards step forward, in what you are sure is an attempt to look menacing. You know you are in no danger because A) Victor Zsasz is literally right there, B) You know both the men knew Zsasz would cut them three ways to Italy if they hurt you, and C) You’d known Lou and Reggie since they started out with Maroni two years ago. After thinking about it for a little, you decide to let Penguin think he has the upper hand, it was no major bruise to your ego if it meant continued peace for you and your bakery.

      Looking back at Mr. Cobblepot, you smile clinically,

      “I see. Well, as I’m sure you’ve heard, in exchange for the safety and continuing civility within my shop, I take no sides, and get involved in no plans against anyone else. I was hoping that would continue, even with the change in power structure.”

      The Penguin seems to analyze you for a few moments, then his face snaps back into that sarcastic business smile, “of course. But you must understand that being the new boss in town makes me… a little cautious, you know. Better safe than sorry,” he laughs shortly, and you smile back, now a little more nervous than before.

      “Of course,” you agree, “as a show of good faith, how about a taste of some of the breakfast scones that just came out of the oven? You and your men can sit in the back room where it’s more private if you’d like,” you gesture to a curtain that leads into a medium sized-room with booth seating and a more private air than the quaint tables you have set up by the street windows.

      Victor rolls his eyes at your brown-nosing, but Lou and Reggie both take an eager step forward, until Penguin stops by raising his hand, and glaring at them before he turns back to you,

      “That’s very nice, but we have a lot to do, maybe another time. The forms for now, please.”

      You nod your head, and make your way back to the kitchen.

      Meanwhile, as you’re gone, Oswald takes this opportunity to look at the display case. Cakes and cookies and breaded goods of all kinds line the rack. He takes a moment more to look at them before turning to his men.

      “I assume you’ve all been here before, then?”

      Reggie answers immediately, “Oh yeah, boss. (y/n) Makes the best cannoli in town. Always gives extra to the guys before we leave. She’s a real sweetheart.”

      “Is _that_ so,” Oswald hums, then turns his eyes on Victor, “how about you Victor, are you an avid fan of cannoli’s as well?”

      Victor looks back from the window to his boss, “I’m more of a muffin guy myself. But yeah, everything here is pretty good.”

      “But it’s not the muffins that bring ya back, is it Victor?” Reggie joked.

      Oswald’s interest was immediately piqued, “Oh really?”

      Reggie, realizing what he did, looks at Victor nervously. If looks could kill the bodyguard would be dead five minutes ago.

            You came out from the kitchen with the papers, “alright, so if you could just look these over and make sure everything is correct, the payment is due in two days and—“ You looked up to see Victor glaring holes into poor Reggie’s head, and Mr. Cobblepot looking at you with a newfound amusement.

      “Did I miss something?” You joke lamely.

      Victor closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before looking at you, “no.”

      So something definitely happened then. “Alright,” you smile, “so here are the papers, Mr. Cobblepot,”

      “Please, call me Oswald,” he starts, looking between you and Victor excitedly, “any friend of Victor’s should be a friend of mine, of course.”

      You froze, then laughed it off nervously, “i’m not sure what you mean.”

      “Oh come now, surely there should be no secrets among us, correct?” You two are…” he draws out the end of his sentence.

      You look at Victor, panicking, and his eyes just seem to say ‘ _deny we know each other, dumbass!’_ but you’re a terrible liar, so you say, “just good friends is all, it’s good for a girl to know at least one assassin in this town, right?”

      Oswald’s excitement seems to die down when he realizes it’s nothing more, but he continues, “but still, it’s strange to know Mr. Zsasz here has a _good_ friend at all.”

      You just shrug awkwardly, not really sure how to respond anymore. Victor smacks his hands against his face theatrically behind Oswald, and you smile bashfully.

      Oswald smiles in what seems to be genuine delight as he signs the forms, “Well, seems like this trip was _well_ worth the drive,” he turns around to face Victor and gestures to you, “Victor, would you like a few moments alone with—“

      “No, Mr. Cobblepot, I’m fine. We should get going,” Victor interrupts, and Reggie seems to shrink at the anger radiating off of him.

      “Oh alright, alright,” Oswald concedes. Turning back to you, he goes in to shake your hand again, “it was a _pleasure_ , Ms. (y/l/n).”

      “I hope to see you again soon, Mr. Cobble—Oswald,” you correct yourself.

      Suddenly remembering the desserts you set aside, you get out a quick, “hold on!” and disappear into the kitchen for a moment before returning with a few tiny boxes tied with a string bow. Presenting one to Oswald, you smile and say, “for choosing my business, and these,” you move to the boys, “are for you three, Reggie, a cannoli, Lou, those sugar cookies your kids love and for the Zsaszm-Victor,” you correct yourself quickly, almost calling him ‘Zsaszmaster’ in front of his boss, “a cranberry muffin.”

      Victor mutters a “nice save,” sarcastically under his breath, but takes the box from you anyways. Lou thanks you quietly, and Reggie fiddles with the box string in excitement.

      You face Oswald once more, “I’ll have the van drop the boxes at six tonight, so I hope I see you and the boys later.”

      You wave them out of the store, and when their car is out of sight, you slump across the glass display case tiredly.

 _‘It’s too early for this,’_ you think to yourself.

* * *

 

      “So Victor, you never mentioned you have a lady friend.”

      Victor huffs, it seems his hope of his boss forgetting about (y/n) was a lost cause.

     “So tell me, are you really just friends? Or is that love I smell in the air,” Oswald smiles coyly.

      “He wishes,” Reggie mutters from the front.

      In a split second, Victor has his gun against the bodyguards temple, “Reggie, the only reason I didn’t shoot you in the bakery is because it’s not allowed, but now I see no reason to hold back. Do you?” Reggie stays rigidly silent. “Well?” Victor asks dryly, “that’s what I thought. Now stop talking about things you don’t understand, alright? Great.”

      “Testy, aren’t we? Well, let me give you a piece of advice, boss to employee, hm?” Oswald leans in as if telling him a great secret, “it’s best to make a move while there’s no one else in the way. Otherwise it might get… morbid. Besides,” he leans back, “I can’t see her staying single forever, she’s quite stunning, even in the apron.”

      It takes Victor everything he has not to strangle his boss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took wayyy too long for me to get out into the world again. but here it is! the finale to the story.

The vans are filled with desserts, and you wave five of the cars away before getting into the sixth. When you try to open the door, however, you find it quickly shut by an outstretched arm. You stiffen, but quickly relax once you realize who’s attached to the aforementioned arm.

“Victor, what do you think you’re doing?” You question.

“What, can’t a gentlemen open a door for a lady?” He responds, opening the door for you.

“It would’ve been better if you hadn’t stopped me from opening it in the first place.”

“Ah ah ah, I don’t want to hear any complaining from you. Not after your little stunt this morning.”

He was, of course, referring to the fact that you failed to lie to his boss in the bakery about the nature of your relationship.

“That was _not_ my fault,” you argue. “You know I’m a terrible liar.”

“And yet, here I am. Your knight in shining armor, ready to take you to the ball.”

You look at him weirdly, “are you alright? You seem…perky”

Victor looks at you, cocking his head as his gaze travels from the furrow of your eyebrows, to the slope of your neck. Finally, his eyes linger on your own, and your stomach does a flip when you notice where all his attention is trained. On you. Then, he smiles in that lazy, arrogant fashion he’s so fond of.

“Can’t a man be in a good mood every once and a while? C’mon (y/n), you wound me,” he pressed his hand over the injury you had patched up just last night.

“Yeah yeah,” you wave away his puppy pout. “Just get in the van, Zsaszmaster.”

As you pull into the back alleyway of the Iceberg Lounge, Victor starts surveying the area for any signs of danger.

“You know,” you start, “there’s no reason anyone would try to take out the caterer. Especially with the reputation I’ve built up for myself. So relax,” you reach out and place your hand on his arm.

This takes affect immediately. Victor relaxes under your touch, and his eyes glass over slightly before regaining their original alertness. “You’re probably right,” he says. “But you can never be too careful. Now pull in here, the garage will lead you to the kitchens,” he pointed ahead, and you nod before parking the van.

When you finally finish unloading all of the desserts, you turn towards where Victor sits against the kitchen counter.

“You know, it seems like whenever there’s work to be done in the kitchen you’re lounging around.”

Victor smiles slightly, turning the apple in his hand around under the ceiling light, before placing it down and heading towards you.

“Well, you know what they say,” he leans over, arms trapping you against the table you were leaning against yourself. “The sweetest things are those you take while you have the chance.”

The tightening in your stomach is back, and you look away laughing nervously, “I’ve never heard that phrase before.”

“Yes well,” Victor pulls away, “the idea’s pretty new to me as well. Mr. Cobblepot gave me some advice recently that I’ve taken to heart, and I thought now would be an opportune time to share it with my friend. After all,” he picks up the red apple again, “what kind of baker doesn’t enjoy a food analogy?” He crunches up a bite, swallowing a chunk before smiling at you.

* * *

 

VICTORS P.O.V.

Ever since Penguin brought it to my attention, I couldn’t help but think of her every free moment I had for the rest of the day. I’m not afraid of Oswald hurting (y/n), even a power monger like him could see hurting her was bad for business, especially since (y/n) was willing to work for him. I thought of her panicked face in the bakery as she tried to hide the fact that the two of us were friends. She never was a good liar. That was one of the reasons I’ve fallen for her. I deal with crooks and criminals of all shapes and sizes, and her honesty is like a breath of fresh air. Not only that, but she’s beautiful.

Oswald was right: if I don’t make a move soon, someone else would. Someone that wasn’t me. And to see (y/n) in someone else’s arms would certainly lead to her new beau gaining four bullets to the chest. Yes, it would be easier if I just had her for myself as soon as possible. I could be smooth and savvy, a real charmer when I need to. She has no idea what’s coming for her now. Once Victor Zsasz picks up a scent, he doesn’t let up until he gets what he wants.

* * *

 

Today, you and Victor stroll through the park. The paved paths called to you, and you’re early to work anyways. A simple tug at his arm and Victor let’s himself be dragged into the sparse crowd of joggers and pigeons.

“Ugh. I hate the park,” he mutters.

“How could you hate the park?” You ask. “Nature is one of life’s great gifts.”

He rolls his eyes at your enthusiasm, “that’s something only you would say.”

“Not true. A lot of people find nature relaxing,” you argue, stepping away to stand in front of him.

Victor smiles, taking a few steps forward so the tips of his shoes touch yours. You look up at him, conversation forgotten as his dark eyes peer into your own (e/c) pair.

“Not in Gotham, sweetheart. But you’ve never been interested in playing by the rules, have you?” He leans into you, head bowing lower so his eyes are level with yours.

“Well, I,” you stutter, unsure to do with the sudden change in mood stifling the air. Instead, you watch as his lips slowly descend towards yours. You close your eyes, tilting your head slightly. Victor smirks.

_Finally._

“Victor!” A voice sings from behind Victor, “never thought I would find you here. I thought you found parks dull?”

Victor sighs slightly, rising and turning to his boss. You peer around from behind his back, wiggling your figures in greeting.

“Ah, that explains it,” Oswald smiles, yellow teeth displayed for the pair. His eyes draw away from Victor’s and towards you, “How are you, dear?”

“I’m fine, thank you Oswald,” you smile politely. You wonder if he knew what he just interrupted. You were willing to guess that he didn’t. Victor, however, was sure his boss knew exactly what he just did.

“Sir,” Victor grinds out. “I thought we were meeting in a half hour. At the bakery.”

“Ah that,” Oswald shoos the idea away with his hand. “I decided I needed a breath of fresh air. And what better place to find it than the park? I’ve always thought nature to be one of life’s greatest gifts. Wouldn’t you agree, (y/n)?”

You smiled, sending a look Victor’s way. “Completely.”

Victor’s non-existent eyebrows twitch as he tries to keep a pleasant look on his face. While he enjoys bantering with you, doing so in front of his boss is not acceptable. The Penguin had already taken too much of an interest in your relationship as it was. There’s no reason to stoke the fire.

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” Oswald drawls.

“No sir,” Victor replies, his face returned to a mask. “Just a walk.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he smiles, “and see you both in a half hour.”

With a final wave goodbye, Oswald and his security leave to finish their stroll. You and Victor watch, one confused and the other furious. The little creature planned this, Victor knew it. He didn’t know how, but he knew it.

“We should probably head over to the bakery anyway, Zsasz,” you say.

With a grunt, he starts to follow you as you begin your day at work.

* * *

 

Victor can’t stand it. He’s watching the exits with the other two guards, like a common henchmen, as you bring out desserts for Oswald to try, laughing all the while.

“(y/n),” Oswald wipes away a tear, “you make for such a lovely conversationalist. Why don’t I come here more often?”

“Probably because this is a neutral zone,” you comment. “It can get hairy when two opposing powers are buying from me at the same time.”

“True enough. But you know, dear,” Oswald takes your hand as you move to walk away, “our talks together are a true delight, I would like to get to know you more. Tell me, are you free this Saturday? I’m having another event, and I’d like to invite you. As a guest. My guest, specifically.”

You’re shocked, “I’m flattered, Oswald, really. But it’s not good for me to show favoritism. It’s bad for business.”

“Ah yes, the business of baking,” Oswald smiles. “And what a lovely business it is. But a girl must have her fun,” he presses.

“That’s true, but-“

“Just an hour, then you’ll be free to go.”

You can tell he’s not going to give up until you say yes, and his polite business smile is twitching downwards into something more dangerous each time you say no. What could one hour hurt?

“Alright,” you concede. “One hour.”

In the corner, Victor clenches his fist. First his boss tells him to make a move, now he’s trying to snatch you up for himself. His hand itches for the trigger of his gun. The other guards in the room sense this, and take a step back from where he’s standing. You, of course, are oblivious to all this as you thank Oswald for his time and invitation, making your way to the door to usher them out.

* * *

 

Oswald was quite pleased with himself. A very pretty girl was attending his party by his invitation. Not just any pretty girl, but the one that Victor was pining over. He had yet to figure out what it was about (y/n) that charmed his dark soul, but if his morbid assassin was head over heels for the girl, there must be something there. The two men sat in the back seat of a car, heading to a meeting over a recent border dispute. Victor was needed in case negotiations went sour, and his moody demeanor tended to make him trigger-happy. This usually makes the men opposite the table anxious, how Oswald likes it. Victor made no move to hide his stormy mood, fiddling with the magazine of his gun, and Oswald observed him coolly. What was it about this simple baker that brought such a man to his knees?

* * *

 

You heard the door click open to your apartment, and spun to see Victor entering tiredly.

“I thought I told you not to break in, Victor,” you scold. The frown on your face turns into a look of concern when you see the heavy bags under Victor’s eyes, and the slump in his shoulders.

“What happened?”

All he does is grunt at you. He’s able to take off his boots before falling tiredly onto the couch. You hurry over, guiding him gently by the shoulders into your bedroom. You hadn’t let him in there for a while, since your sleeping habits didn’t allow for platonic company.

_“Why don’t I ever get to sleep in here?”_

_You steered Victor away from your bedroom, which he peered into curiously. You shut the door, scolding him._

_“Boundaries, Victor. You know I sleep in the nude.”_

_“Even better,” he replied._

_“Watch it,” you warned with a smile, stirring spoon pointed at his nose. He tilted his head up and licked the icing._

_“Gross,” you laughed._

You shake your head, as if to get the memory out of your thoughts. That isn’t the matter at hand. When he gets like this, it’s more than a hard job. Something long-term was weighing on his mind. You just had no idea that it was you.

“(y/n)…” he mumbles, his head on your shoulder.

“I know,” you reply, though you really don’t know what’s wrong. You lay the assassin on your bed, pulling the sheets over his fully clothed form.

You get in on the other side, scooting up to his face.

“You wanna talk about it?” you whisper.

He grumbles, eyes still tightly shut.

“Alright then. I’m going to go turn off all the lights, then I’ll be back—“

You’re surprised when you try to get up, and his arms curl around your waist to pull you back in.

“Don’t worry about the lights. Stay.”

You smile, “alright.”

* * *

 

All that week whenever he had the chance, Victor would take you out. Sometimes you’d take a walk, sometimes a drive. Wednesday night he took you to the movies. He’d hold your hand, or in the case of the cinema, yawn and wrap his arm around you. If he couldn’t stay for long, Victor would bring you gifts. It wasn’t necessarily unwanted, but it was all so sudden. The sudden influx of physical contact and displays of affection almost made it seem like he might—

“Ridiculous,” you scoffed under your breath. To even entertain the thought of romance was silly.

 _And dangerous,_ you thought. Zsasz was one of your closest friends in this city, and to risk your friendship for a theory was idiotic.

Besides, tonight was the night of Oswald’s party, and you had to set yourself straight before you got there. Zsasz was your friend and whatever he was going through had a simpler solution. Perhaps he finally realized life was fleeting, and you should appreciate those you have while they’re alive. For Victor, that was you. Using this easy excuse, you put a smile on your face and went to go put on the dress Oswald had sent you.

* * *

 

“(y/n) (l/n), you look stunning tonight. I was right, that dress is perfect.”

“Thank you Oswald. That’s very kind,” you reply politely. While you agreed to come, you wanted your relationship to remain entirely professional. Not wearing the dress might have put you in dangerous waters. That didn’t mean you had to gush every time the man complimented you. However, you aren’t one to avoid tooting your own horn. The dress is a sleek black that clings to your form. Thin embroidery trails along the cloth, creating a slight affect of shimmer when you move under the lights. A string of diamonds hangs from your ears, and red lipstick paints your lips. You’d done the best you could with your (h/c) hair, putting it in a low bun.

“Would you care to dance?” he asks, holding out his hand.

“I—“

“Sir, there’s a problem in the kitchens.”

You turn to see who interrupted, and smile when you see his face.

“Victor!”

His eyes glance towards you. They’re blank, cold slates and you recoil from the sight. The entire week he’d been warm and affectionate. But now?

“Can’t you get the chef to take care of that?” Oswald said, annoyance playing on his face.

“It’s the oven, something’s gotten caught in the back of it.”

“I can help with that,” you cut into the conversation.

“Tonight you are a guest, (y/n), not the help,” Oswald objected.

Victor cut in again, “actually, (y/n) might be the right one for the job. I’ve seen her do it before. No one else knows how.”

“I’ll be quick,” you supplied helpfully. “It’ll only take a moment. Really, it’s not a bother.”

“Great,” Victor said, guiding you by the small of your back. “This way.”

The two of you weave your way through the crowd, making your way into the kitchens.

“Out,” Victor commands, and the staff disperses in mere seconds.

“So, where’s the faulty oven?” You question, wandering around to where a row of ovens sat humming.

Victor turns towards you; eyes alight with fire once more. He cocks his head as if confused, “what faulty oven?”

Now you’re confused. “What do you mean, ‘what faulty oven’?” you mock his voice. “The oven that you said had something stuck in the back.”

“Oh, that,” Victor hummed. “I made that up.”

“Why would you do that?”

He took a several strides towards you, and you moved to your right.

“Victor,” you warned.

He only widens his eyes as if to say ‘what?’ pursuing closely, until your back’s against a giant fridge.

“You know,” he says gently, “I thought you might’ve caught on by now.”

“To what?” you say. “Victor, you know it freaks me out when you do this.”

He smiles, “do what?”

“The assassin façade,” you respond.

He only moves in closer, pushing his hands into your hips. Your body presses further into the fridge behind you, the cool metal making you arch your back in protest. His eyes loom over yours, dark and dangerous and fascinated by the way you look below him. You curse your body’s reaction to his predatory gaze.

“Victor, I swear if you don’t explain yourself right now--”

Victor swoops down and crushes his lips into yours, brows furrowed and mind running rampant. Here the moment was, and you were softer and hotter and better than anything he could’ve imagined. The feelings you had been suppressing all week came out at once. Your arms break free, putting themselves around his neck. He smirked into the kiss, wrapping his arms around your thighs. In return, you wrap your thighs around his legs. The fridge presses hard against your back, but you pay no mind to that. Victor Zsasz, your best friend and Gotham’s best assassin, is kissing you like it was his last day on earth. And you were kissing him back. He grabs your lower lip with his teeth, and you moan lightly.

“Shh,” he scolds, pulling back to look at you with faux-stern eyes.

You roll your hips into his, rubbing against his erection. He grunts in surprise and arousal, grinding back in response

“Shh,” you taunt back.

Victor kisses the junction of your neck, moving up to right below your jaw. You whimper, clawing at his back in approval. You reluctantly pull away to make eye contact with him. His eyes are feral and hungry, flitting between your own as you both pant harshly.

“My place,” is all you breathe out before he nods back, kissing you once more.

“I have to go tell Oswald,” he moves to break from you. You push in front of him, cupping one hand against his neck while the other kneads his groin.

“No. Now.”

You leave through the back door. He follows closely, keys already in hand.

* * *

 

You lay in bed the next day a very, very happy woman. Victor’s arms wrap around your waist, his head nuzzled into your breasts as he dreams on happily. You stroke his head, drawing mindless patterns with your fingertips. Once you’d gotten back to your place, the night had continued from where it had ended in Oswald’s kitchen. First, the couch. Then the kitchen, the bathroom, and the floor until you finally made your way into the bedroom. Never before had a house been so thoroughly christened.

You wiggled out of Victor’s arms, slipping into his black dress shirt before making a fresh pot of coffee. Minutes later, warm arms slip around you.

“I was wondering where you ran off to,” Victor says, kissing you earlobe. He takes the cup you offered him and leans onto the counter in front of you both.

“You know, (y/n), I’ve never been one for emotional outbursts.”

You gasp, “I had no idea.”

He looks at you with raised eye ridges, before continuing, “but I’m not going to tip toe around them when it happens. I love you, (y/n).”

You stare at him for a long moment, making the assassin fidget under your gaze. The fact that you’re not wearing any pants doesn’t make it easier for him, either.

“You know what,” you smack your mug onto the counter, “I love you too, Victor Zsasz.”

And you kiss him, coffee growing cold in the heat created by a Gotham baker, and her ever-attendant assassin.


End file.
